


Outbreak

by mysterycyclone



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Tower, BAMF Natasha Romanov, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Tony Stark, Gen, Irondad, Medical Inaccuracies, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Presumed Dead, Protective Avengers, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:24:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23967397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterycyclone/pseuds/mysterycyclone
Summary: Thaddeus Ross is a man with thinning patience and even thinner morals. Tony is becoming more of a hindrance than an asset and will soon re-assemble the Avengers if left to his own devices. Ross needs to get rid of him. But first he needs to destroy his reputation and credibility. And then he needs to destroy the man himself.Ross has access to a number of tools to accomplish this.He also knows Tony has a son.One phone call sets the whole thing in motion.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Peter Parker & Thaddeus Ross, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Thaddeus Ross & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Comments: 23
Kudos: 92





	Outbreak

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: this fic contains a quarantine situation taking place in New York City. While that isn't the full focus of the plot, it might be upsetting for those who are working through COVID-19.
> 
> Please take care of yourselves and back out of the story.

**The Daily Planet** _ @dailyplanet 11/29/2017_

Stark Industries is now ranked as the best place to work in the nation, edging out Wayne Enterprises. See what our analysts have to say about it.

**Bruce Wayne **_@brucewayne_

Congrats, @starkindustries and CEO @pepperpotts! We should compare notes sometime.

**Pepper Potts **_@pepperpotts_

@brucewayne Let’s do lunch. How does next week sound?

**Bruce Wayne ** _@brucewayne_

@pepperpots, that sounds great.

**Tony Stark** _@brucewayne_

@brucewayne you better be on your best behavior, bud.

**Bruce Wayne** _@brucewayne_

@tonystark, that’s rich coming from you.

**The Daily Bugle** _@thedailybugle_ _11/29/2017_

Emergency workers were called to an Oscorp lab in downtown Manhattan late last night. The lab works with dangerous viruses and diseases. Norman Osborn states that the containment breach was handled and no threat to the city exists.

** guwanda ** _@gwenstacy_

who studies live viruses and diseases in the middle of MANHATTAN?

** Gluten Free Freedom ** _@bettybrant_

isn't this how zombie movies start?

** Literally Ryan Reynolds ** _@deadpoolsmassivechurro_

F.

*** * ***

"And here, Mr. Secretary," the plain man says, gently setting a suitcase down on Ross' desk. "A gift from Mr. Osborn."

Ross sets down his coffee and unclips the suitcase, opening it slowly. Inside is a single vial of red liquid that gleams sullenly in the light, embedded in thick black foam. Ross stares at it for a moment before looking up at the man.

"Is this what I think it is?" he asks.

The man smiles. "It is, Mr. Secretary."

Ross grins. "All right. Debrief me, son. What do I need to know? Are there any side effects I should be aware of?"

"It's administered through a modified virus. Whoever takes it should be prepared to stay in bed for awhile, but after that, they'll be fine," the man replies confidently. "The transformation will take time to get used to, and you should monitor the subject's temperature. If it gets too high, they'll collapse and revert back to their natural form. The full instructions are in the suitcase."

“And the failed version of this serum?” Ross asks.

The man clears his throat, the only sign of his discomfort. “Surrendered to your men as you requested. I've been asked to inform you just how dangerous it is for someone to be exposed to it. It's a virus, and transmits through fluids. Assuming it doesn't outright kill the person who drinks it--which is _extremely_ likely--it will trigger a transformation in them similar to Dr. Banner's but much more unstable--”

"Which is why I need it," Ross cuts in smoothly. "I want to oversee its destruction personally. My men are professional to the utmost degree."

They’re also, technically speaking, war criminals he recruited right out of their respective cells or quietly transferred away from troublesome command chains intent on prosecuting them for their crimes. But they’re loyal to Ross, down to the last man, which is an important thing to have when you’ve pushed for and helped create legislation meant to oppress and hem in mutants. Ross holds no illusions about their ability to survive a head on fight with most mutants, which is why the majority are amoral assassins.

Even speedbumps have their uses. 

The man looks unsure. "Of course, that was never in question, Mr. Secretary. Just be sure to handle the situation swiftly if one of them becomes infected. The effects of the unfinished batch are unpleasant to see."

"Of course. I’ll have the rest of your payment wired to your company immediately. Tell Mr. Osborn I'm in his debt," Ross replies, closing the suitcase with no small amount of smug satisfaction. "And that he's served his nation well. That will be all."

The man nods again and quietly exits the room, closing the door behind himself.

Ross smirks. For the past several years the world has been at the mercy of a ragtag group of genetic offshoots of the human race intent on keeping the world safe. The polite term is 'enhanced' where the much more crass one is 'mutant.' To Ross, they were mutants and, more than that, they were threats.

The Avengers are independent superheroes who hold no allegiance to any one particular nation, not even their own. That's frankly unacceptable; the potential for them to get it into their heads to interfere in international politics and upset the delicate balance of power is too high. They need to be kept in check until the nations of the world find a way to successfully field resources capable of fending them off or, if it comes to it, eliminating them wholesale. At the moment, the only way to do that is to fight fire with fire.

Ross is well aware of the programs funded by most modern militaries across the world. All of them are focused on recruiting mutants under their banner and raising them under the watchful eyes of their own special forces divisions. That doesn't sit well with Ross, personally. It's far too close to HYDRA's methods for comfort, though he can't deny that it will likely succeed in some form or another.

It's a damnably slow method, however, and Ross is not a patient man. So he's found another way.

The super soldier serum created in the forties is still some strange holy grail of science that none of the best minds in the world have ever been able to match. At this point, it's not even worth the effort to try; at best, you'll get an enhanced individual that isn't _quite _as good as Steve Rogers and probably just as rebellious. The closest anyone's gotten is Bruce Banner, and even recreating his specific brand of fuck up is difficult in the extreme.

A serum meant to trigger a transformation into a Hulk is, as it turns out, much easier to achieve. The serum he has in that suitcase is refined so that the transformation doesn't split the mind of the subject and the individual can transform at will. Ross hadn't expected Osborn to pull it off, but he certainly isn't keen on looking a gift horse in the mouth.

Fight fire with fire. Make your own monsters to beat back the rogue elements that won't fall into line.

A Hulk serum can certainly do that. Even the bad batch that Osborn has been so keen to warn him about has its uses.

Ross smiles, pulling out his phone and dialing a number that isn't saved to the device. It won't appear on any phone records; the cell tower routing this call will short out and lose all history logs for the past twenty-four hours once he finishes it.

The call is answered on the first ring. The voice that answers is low, polite, and professional. "Sir?"

"Tony Stark has just outlived his usefulness. Make sure he doesn't make it out of Manhattan." Ross is quiet for a moment, weighing options. He shrugs. "Hell, let’s have some fun with it. Get rid of the kid and make it look like Rogers and his crew are behind it. And make sure you plant that serum somewhere where it does the most damage. A water tower near Stark’s tower ought to do it."

"Understood, sir," the man says, his response prompt and professional. "We're set up in a safe house already. It should be done within the month."

"Don't disappoint me." Ross ends the call and pockets his phone. He waits a few minutes before texting his assistant; he'll stay in Manhattan for the next week or two, until the job is done. That should give him the opportunity to step in and handle the 'disaster' from ground zero. He has plenty of work to do in the meantime.

After all, someone will have to arrange the legal documents necessary to seize the Avengers Compound after Tony's death.

*** * ***

"Are you sure you have to go?" Clint asks from the doorway.

"We do. Grandpa won't last much longer, and you know how much he loves the kids." Laura replies, carefully folding up clothes and packing away a cell phone charger. "We'll visit him outside of the city and then clear out his place in Manhattan. It'll just take a couple of weeks."

"A couple of weeks," Clint replies. "Right."

Laura looks up from her bags, her eyes softening. She walks over to Clint and cups his cheek, gently brushing her thumb along his cheekbone. "We'll be back before you know it. Promise."

“I know, I know, I just wish I could go with you,” Clint says, slipping his arms around her waist. “It’s not fair that you have to fly up to New York City by yourself with three kids.”

“The kids will be fine. They’re excited, even. You know how pouty Lila is getting these days. A change of scenery might help." She ducks in and kisses him briefly. He returns it eagerly, but his frown doesn't disappear. "Just think of all the time you'll have to fix that leaky window in our room. Or any of the other projects you've been putting off."

"Yeah," Clint says. "Projects."

Laura smiles at him, soft and gentle, patting his chest. "And think of the fun that'll happen when i get back."

"I mean, we could always skip right to the fun part."

It's at that point that Lila calls out from downstairs. "_Dad! Nathan's climbing the roof again!"_

"Mm, sounds like duty calls," Laura says, grinning.

"Never should have let him watch that Spiderman video last night," Clint sighs, kissing her cheek before climbing out of the nearest window and up onto the roof. "Nathan, we talked about this, bud--”

Laura fights back a grin, going back to her packing. Two weeks is no time at all. Clint might even be glad for the time alone.

*** * ***

“Gentlemen, I’m glad you could make it,” Natasha says, sauntering into the safe house with all the careless grace of someone who didn’t just march through several feet of snow in the far northern reaches of Finland.

Sam, huddled up close to a space heater plugged into one dingy wall, shoots her a scathing look. 

Steve nods when she comes in. “I have to say that I prefer Germany to Finland around this time of year.”

“Germany is predictable and also under close scrutiny by Ross’ hounds. No one wants to search Finland in November, Steve,” Natasha replies, shrugging off her outer coat and sitting down at the card table between them. She reaches out and tilts Sam's space heater towards herself.

Sam groans in frustration. “Come on, man.”

“Nice to see you too, Sam,” Nat says evenly, pulling out a small hologram projector and placing it on the table. “How are Vis and Wanda?”

“Cooped up together in England for the moment,” Sam replies, adjusting the heater for her despite his complaints. “They’re good, but Vis is pushing it by pulling this disappearing act on Tony. Also he and Wanda are being mildly gross lovebirds, but I’m just saying that because I'm bitter. Because my dating life’s taken a bit of a downturn since I started running from the government. Don’t suppose you know of any dating sites for felons on the run?”

“A few, but you might not make waves in them. Sorry.”

Sam looks well and truly offended now.

“Why’d you bring us here, Nat?” Steve cuts in.

Nat goes silent for a moment, considering the hologram projector on the table. She fiddles with it for a moment, toying with settings and calibrations that Steve couldn’t even guess at. “Well. I’ve been keeping an eye on the Accords, in case there’s been any changes.”

Sam perks up. “Have there been any changes?”

Natasha goes quiet, tapping the table in an uncharacteristic show of frustration. “Yes and no. Have there been changes made since the last time we met? Yes. God, yes. A ton. Spearheaded by Tony and T’challa. They started amending them, making them less restrictive and molding them into something maybe a little more palatable. In fact, it was changing so quickly that I was convinced that the next time we met, it’d be to give you some good news.”

“Stark’s amending them?” Sam asks.

“T’challa is the one writing the amendments,” Natasha corrects. “With input from Tony. Tony’s garnering support for the amendments. And they’re actually not bad. I have a revised copy in my bag.” She stops, taking in a deep breath. “But the changes stopped. Tony’s dropped support. He’s left T’challa hanging. That isn’t like him. The Accords amendments are still making their way through the system, but they’re stalled for the moment.”

“Why would Tony drop his support?”

“Why would he support it anyway? He’s the one who was behind them one thousand percent,” Sam mutters.

“He had his reasons, Sam,” Natasha says. She turns to Steve. “I wondered why he would drop out like that. It’s not like him. He doesn’t just _stop_ doing something. Stark doesn’t sit still and when he runs into a problem, he moves through it or around it, for better or worse.” She finally turns on the hologram projector. “So I did some digging and I found something. I think you should see this.”

“What is it?” Steve asks, leaning forward to get a better look. It’s Stark tech; gleaming, smooth, and elegant. He’d recognize it anywhere, even if he didn’t necessarily know how to work the device. For a brief moment he wonders if Natasha’s changed sides again, but he quickly dismisses that idea. He trusts her.

“A file I found on Stark’s network,” Natasha says. The projector only shows vague shapes until she starts the recording. Tony comes into view, wearing jeans and a faded Iron Maiden shirt, walking through the Tower with a cellphone pressed to his ear. A voice all too familiar to Steve comes from the phone. 

“--don’t think I didn’t figure out your part of the Raft escape, Stark,” Ross growls. “I know you helped them get out. I should have arrested you then and there, both for disrupting the security for Rogers and ignoring your call to duty afterward.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ross,” Tony replies. His voice is all innocent boredom as he enters his lab, and the opening bars of Metallica’s Harvester of Sorrow (a song Steve can recognize only because of how often he’s heard it in the lab) almost drowns out his smug tone. The music does not, however, mask the smirk on Tony’s face. “You do realize there’s probably not a prison on this planet capable of holding any Avenger for long, right? We’re pretty infamous for being stubborn. And, also, I’d like to thank you for the assumption that I disrupted the security network, but I have to admit that wasn’t me. Rogers is pretty infamous for not being tech savvy. He can break anything electronic. Really. He broke my toaster once, which is, like, the _simplest_ piece of tech you can own--”

“We found evidence of someone shutting down the security protocols. There’s only one man capable of doing that on this planet and it’s you,” Ross spits. “You’re lucky I need you, Stark, or I’d have you thrown into the Raft right now.”

Tony sighs with all the put upon patience of a saint. He still manages to police his tone into a snarky sort of friendly cheer, turning down a hallway in the old Tower. “Okay, well, as enjoyable as this conversation is--and I’m not joking, every talk with you is an event, Ross--I do have other appointments--”

“I know about your son,” Ross says.

Tony freezes, an expression of pure, genuine fear flickering over his face. Steve feels his stomach drop and can see his shock mirrored on Sam’s face.

A _son?_ What son? 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tony says plainly, confused but guarded. His tone fortunately doesn’t match the tight, worried expression on his face. If Ross had made this threat in person, Steve doubts Ross would buy the lie. “I don’t have a--”

“His name is Peter, he is sixteen years old. He goes to a high school renowned for only taking in students with genius level abilities in science, and his mother was a brilliant up and coming geneticist that worked for you during the wildest moments of your life before she died. Two years ago you hired him as your personal intern,” Ross replies, and there’s a smug satisfaction to his voice that grates on Steve’s ears. “Except you seem more interested in taking him to dinner and providing for him. How many other sixteen year old interns have you bought Star Wars posters and backpacks for, Stark? Don’t waste my time. You and I both know I wouldn’t mention him if I didn’t already know everything about him.”

“He has _nothing_ to do with any of this--” Tony snarls furiously. One of his hands is clenched into a shaking fist.

“Now, I know you’ve been pushing for reforms on the Accords,” Ross drawls, cutting Tony off. “You’ve been pleading your case to the UN and anyone with the authority to adjust them, pushing for amnesty clauses for the Rogues among other things. Hell, if I read the last one right, you even want _the Winter Soldier_ to be a part of that once he finishes his sentence with Wakanda. You want the Avengers reassembled.'' There's a sneer in his voice, quickly followed by a flat tone. "I’m telling you to stop right now before anyone gets hurt. Lots of things can happen to a kid at school these days.”

There’s another pause, the call going silent except for Tony’s breathing. Tony looks sick. “Are you seriously threatening a _child_ to get your way?”

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes to protect my nation, Stark,” Ross says flatly. “And the ends will always justify the means. If I need to personally hold a gun to your boy’s head to do it, then I will. If I have to pull the trigger and paint the walls with your kid’s brains, then that’s on you. Bottom line is this: fall back into step or there’s going to be consequences.”

Tony looks as though he’s on the edge of a rage fueled panic attack. “You even come _near_ him and I’ll--” 

“I look forward to your full and enthusiastic support. Goodbye, Stark.”

The call ends and silence fills the room. Tony curses and hangs up, running a hand down his face. He looks sick and scared. “Friday, call Happy and tell him to pick up the kid from school--”

The projection ends as Tony leaves the room, the images collapsing within themselves and disappearing. The room goes dim and silent.

Steve stares at the table, trying to compose his thoughts. His mind is a whirlwind of emotion.

Tony betrayed them. He tried to arrest them. He tried to kill Bucky and got damn close. Steve had barely been able to keep Tony from accomplishing it, and he’s not at all proud of what he had to do to make sure Bucky stayed safe. There’s bitterness there that may never go away. They've never seen eye to eye; Tony is flamboyant, flippant, arrogant and grating in the ways only a man born with every material advantage can be.

And yet the thought of him being blackmailed is enough for Steve to see red.

Steve definitely still harbors some hard feelings for the man, but he can quietly admit that most of it is anger born out of grief for their lost friendship, intermingling with his fear for Bucky. The more he thinks of the Accords and everything around them, the sicker he feels.

Tony is still a good man at heart. He was always first to help Steve if he asked, even if he was a snarky ass about it more often than not. New York City is alive because of him. The man is a hero.

He disrupted the Raft’s security systems so Steve could help the others escape. 

He’s been trying to ratify the Accords. He’s trying to forgive _Bucky._

And Ross just threatened the man’s son for it.

“How’d you get this?” Sam asks quietly.

“I still have access to Tony’s network. He never actually took it away from me,” Natasha says. “We all still have access, actually. I checked. He’s limited what we can do, but the trust funds he put together for us are still there. They’re just wired to secret accounts that are impossible to trace unless you have a hyper advanced AI doing the legwork. This file was in my inbox.”

“Tony meant for you to find it,” Steve says numbly. Tony is asking for their help.

“He’s left a few things there in case anything happens to him,” Natasha says. “This call took place just before Tony dropped out of the Accord amendment process. He hasn’t left New York since August.”

“The start of the school year,” Sam mutters.

“Ross must have some of his men tailing them both in New York,” Steve says thoughtfully. “That’s why we haven’t seen many of them lately. They’ve been pulled back to put pressure on Tony.”

“He’s pulled all of his heavy hitters back to New York,” Natasha confirms. “He’s terrified Tony’s going to pull this off. And he should be. Tony’s damn close to doing it.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, broken by Sam. “So what do we do from here?”

Steve pulls out the flip phone he’s kept in his pocket since the day the Avengers split. His thumb hovers over the call button for a moment before he presses it. There's only one other number saved to it.

The call starts, and then immediately ends. No signal. Which is probably to be expected given that they're in an abandoned bunker near the northernmost part of Finland.

Steve snaps the phone shut and pockets it.

"We go to New York," he says. "Let's start making plans."

*** * ***

**Midtown Tech **_@midtowntechschool_ _12/06/2017_

A power surge last night caused an electrical fire. All classes have been cancelled. Exams will resume when firefighters have deemed the building safe.

**CNN **_@cnn_ _12/06/2017_

Tony Stark has halted the sale of Avengers Tower, citing big plans to take place in the future. He was quick to assure the public that all of his suits and ‘superhero stuff’ has been removed from city limits. Rumors say he’ll be in Manhattan tomorrow to finalize plans for renovations.

**The Daily Bugle **_@DailyBugle_ _12/06/2017_

Worst flu in decades! Schools and businesses are closing down in Manhattan. The Manhattan Flu is spreading like wildfire. Doctors are urging people to stay home if they're sick to prevent spreading the illness. Spider-man is a potential disease vector.

** HoldMeCloseTinyHamster ** _@hamsterdance_

Wish I could but my boss says I'll be fired if I call off sick. Enjoy your plague bagel, New Yorkers :P

** Dark Side Cookies ** _@peterparker_

literally how is spiderman a disease vector

**Hot Buns! **_@hotbunsnbagels_ _12/06/2017_

Still open and fully staffed! Come on in for a coffee and a croissant! Hospital workers get 50% off on bagels!

**The Daily Planet **_@dailyplanet_ _12/06/2017_

The 'Rogue Avengers' were spotted near a Wakandan embassy earlier this week, prompting the UN to question Wakandan delegates concerning rumors the nation is supporting them in some way. US Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross is reportedly furious by Wakanda’s lack of communication.

**Stark Industries **@starkindustries _12/06/2017_

All Manhattan employees should work from home if possible. CEO Pepper Potts has authorized special sick leave for those who are ill or caring for family members. Please contact your local HR dept if you have any questions.

*** * ***

**Aunt May: ** _Still going to Manhattan today?_

**Peter: ** _yeah, just for a bit, ned and mj want to hang out tonight and study_

**Aunt May: ** _You three have fun. I picked up an extra shift at the hospital tonight so you'll have to find dinner yourself. Text me when you get home so I know you're safe!_

**Peter: ** _i'm a literal superhero, i save other people_

**Aunt May: ** _That's nice. Forget to text me and you're grounded._

**Peter: ** _does nothing impress you anymore_

**Aunt May:** _:)_

*** * ***

Something tickles at the back of Peter's neck. It starts when he enters the subway, and only grows stronger from there. He finds himself fiddling with the high tech watch he and Tony built months ago, watching the steady heartbeats of Tony Stark, and Pepper Potts in real time to distract himself. 

The subway is _off_ in a way that Peter can't put his finger on. It's relatively quiet, more than usual, especially given the approaching holidays, but that isn't totally unusual for a Saturday afternoon. Most people steadfastly ignore one another on the train, so a little less conversation isn't too off putting and it’s a welcome respite from last week’s surprise mariachi band battle.

Peter is convinced that his personal hell is a subway train full of amateur musicians.

The buzzing at the back of his mind grows stronger the longer he's on the train. The hairs on the back of his neck stick up, and he's filled with a restlessness that has him bouncing his leg anxiously. The ventilation system above his seat hisses, and the sound of strains his already fraying nerves. Peter can't tell if it's louder than normal or if his senses are reacting to his anxiousness over school. Is it possible to trigger his survival instincts from exam stress? Is that a thing? They’re going haywire. He feels like someone is about to leap out of the ceiling and stab him, which would be so impressive that he might let it happen.

Behind him, a man coughs. It's deep, rattling, and vaguely wet. Peter winces when he hears it. 

His spidey senses go off the rails, causing him to jump in place slightly before he gets a hold of himself. He mentally rolls his eyes. His spidey senses are flipping out over the _flu_. Yeah, that's 'dangerous'---he still gets sick sometimes--but not it’s not life threatening. Lingering stress from his exams and the upcoming semester have left him rattled, apparently. 

What was it Mr. Stark said to do when anxiety got to be too much? Breathing exercises. That might help. Peter takes a deep breath, focusing on grounding himself. Frustration over things can be very grounding. Like his frustration with his spidey sense. 

Sometimes it's hard to differentiate between standard red-blooded American anxiety spikes and his spidey sense, and that's becoming more of an issue that he expected.

The train comes to a stop, and there's a rush of people leaving the train and then the station, bottlenecked by tourists trying to get on. Peter weaves through the crowd with the practiced ease of a lifelong New Yorker and jogs up the steps to the street above. He takes a step to the side to look around and get his bearings. It's rare for him to be in Manhattan by himself. Usually he only comes to the island when Happy or Tony pick him up for a late dinner or to visit the former Avengers Tower. Today he's on a more personal mission.

Snow covers the curbs, but the sidewalk is mostly clear. Peter traces out a path around the most heavily trafficked areas to avoid tourists until he ends up at a bookstore tucked away at the end of a street. Peter pushes the door open and steps inside.

The shop is tastefully decorated; thick carpet covers the floor and large, heavy shelves full of thick and expensive looking books line the shop. The owner is standing behind the till, paging through a leather bound tome spread open on his counter. He glances up from his book and gives Peter a disapproving look. Peter only knows two things about the owner: he's distinctly British and extremely uninterested in selling books. Which is odd for a bookstore owner, but Peter's in no place to judge.

"Um, I'm here for the signing?" Peter says, shrugging off his backpack and quickly unzipping it before pulling out a door stopper of a book. It's titled _On Hatred and the Nature of Anti-Mutant Violence by Charles Xavier._

The man visibly relaxes, then waves over towards the back. "He's just finishing up. Everyone else has already left."

"Thank you!" Peter says, quickly moving towards the back. The owner is right; Xavier is just starting to wheel himself away from the small table set up for his book signing by the time Peter reaches him. A tall man with red sunglasses is standing nearby, watching Peter approach. A bodyguard, most likely. "Excuse me, sorry--I know I'm late but--If you wouldn't mind--"

Xavier stops, turns to look at him for a moment. His gaze is piercing, and there’s a brief moment where Peter’s head feels fuzzy on the inside, but it passes quickly. Xavier smiles and waves Peter over to him, moving back behind the table. "Not at all. Join me."

Peter perks up, jogging up to the table and setting down his copy of Xavier's book. It's a softcover copy, and already ragged at one of the edges from Flash shoving him against a locker at school last week. He hopes it gives it character and doesn't offend Xavier. He’s pretty sure MJ won’t care about the damage.

If Xavier is offended, he doesn't show it. In fact, he seems at ease around Peter. Xavier takes the book and opens the cover, clicking his pen. "What's your name, young man?"

"Oh, uh, Peter, but can you make it out to Michelle Jones? She's, uh, my friend.” Sort of. They have been spending a lot of time alone together lately. “This a gift for her. For Christmas," Peter rambles.

Xavier smiles. "Is she enhanced?"

"Um, no. She's always been focused on civil rights for, well, everyone," Peter says. "It's always been important to her."

Xavier hums, signing the inside of the cover. "I hope she enjoys it."

Peter brightens just a bit, the way he usually does when he thinks of MJ. It must show on his face somehow, because Xavier's expression softens into a fond smile. "Yeah! Me too. I mean, she probably will? She's read all of your other books, too. Usually in a day."

"I'm honored," Xavier replies, handing the book back to Peter. "You're a thoughtful young man."

Peter ducks his head down at the praise, taking the book. He opens the cover and peeks at the note.

_To Michelle Jones, _

_May your heart stay true. Your friendship is the bedrock of the future._

_Regards,_

_Charles Xavier_

It's perfect. Peter grins. "Thanks, Professor Xavier. She'll love it."

"Of course, Mr. Parker. It was a pleasure to meet you. Tell Ms. Jones that she's free to reach out to me if she would like to discuss the book," Xavier replies. 

“I will!” Peter says, carefully tucking the book back into his backpack before turning to leave the table. “Thank you!”

He stops for a moment, looking around the bookshop, and then wanders over towards the science section. He’s already read most of what the shop has to offer, but he could find something surprising among the stacks. 

And then his anxiety spikes, intermingling with a sense of _danger_ from his spidey senses. Peter drops the book he was holding and looks around, tense and ready to jump.

The bookshop is quiet and peaceful. He’s alone among the shelves near the back of the shop.

God, finals really are doing a number on him today. Peter rubs his eyes, then ducks down to pick up the book he dropped, tucking it away back in its proper spot on the shelf. Maybe he should just head over to Ned’s place early. Ned always know how to distract him and help him calm down.

“Is everything okay, kid?” the man with the red sunglasses asks. “You look pretty worn down.”

"Oh, I just look like this," Peter replies. He shrugs. "Final exams. You know."

The man smiles. “I get it.” He pulls out a card from his pocket and hands it to Peter. “If you’re interested, you should visit our school sometime.”

The card reads _Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Children_. The name Jean Grey is stenciled across the back along with a phone number and email address. Peter looks over the card and shrugs.

“I’ll think about it. Thanks,” Peter says, adjusting his backpack and heading towards the shop doors. The store is starting to become stuffy and closed in. He steps back outside, tucking the card into his pocket near his wallet, breathing in the frigid air and contemplating which direction he should take to get back to Ned’s place.

It suddenly occurs to him that he never told Professor Xavier his last name. He starts to ponder how the man knew his last name when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulls it out and swipes it open.

**Iron Man: ** _A certain happy individual has just informed me that you're in Manhattan. _

**Peter: ** _yeah i'm getting a gift for mj _

**Iron Man: ** _Adorable. Let's get lunch. I'll have Happy pick you up when we're free. Do not respond to this with a gif or an emoji or I'm banishing you to Tulsa. _

**Peter: ** _wouldn't dream of it mr. stark ;)_

**Iron Man: ** _Strike one, Parker._

Peter grins, pocketing his phone, and feeling a tiny bit better. He still has time to grab some coffee before Happy comes to pick him up. Maybe a bagel, too. His anxiety is still up, and sometimes that just means he’s overdue for some food.

Super metabolisms are the worst.

He’s unaware of the two broad shouldered men from the subway keeping pace with him across the street as he makes his way towards the closest bagel shop.

*** * ***

"So, what do you think?" Tony asks, strolling around the room and idly twirling a pen in his hand. He throws his other arm out wide, gesturing towards the room in a move not unlike the swaggering showmanship he would use for a new top of the line product. Said room is nothing more than cement floors, unfinished walls and a ceiling free of roof tiles and full of dangling bundles of wires, both electrical and networking. As far as rooms go, it ranks pretty low on impressiveness. In fact, it's just short of being a depressing eyesore.

Rhodey wheels himself into the room, looks around, and then smirks at Tony. "Looks like a fixer upper to me. I thought you said this was a surgical center?"

Tony waves away his comment. "It's running behind schedule, but it'll be finished in no time once Nakia signs off on the paperwork and the doctors are cleared to come into the country. This will be the first Wakandan hospital on American soil, oddly enough."

Rhodey tilts his head, looking up at Tony. "Really?"

"Really really," Tony replies. "There are clinics in California, and another hospital is in the planning phase in Oakland near the community center they built up, but the Tower will be the first fully operational facility. They’re going to use the bottom twenty five floors with room for expansion, while I foot the bill for the ambulances and life flights. The first ten will be dedicated to the hospital. I'm having the garage reworked for ambulances, and long term care facilities will be on the five floors above the hospital, and depending on how things shake out--"

Rhodey follows along behind him as he goes into further detail, deftly steering his wheelchair around construction equipment as they explore further into the building. He’s become an expert with his wheelchair lately, and he holds mixed feelings about that. The fight in Germany had been brutal, and Rhodey had suspected it would end terribly. A part of him is bitter and sad that the price he paid resulted in a broken spine and newly useless legs, but a larger part is glad that's _all_ they lost that day.

Well. Aside from their friends.

Tony's running commentary doesn't slow down until they reach the elevator and the doors close behind them. "Your apartment is almost finished, by the way. I'm keeping the Avenger floors as they are," Tony adds as an afterthought as they rise towards the top of the Tower where the residential floors are. "Just in case."

Rhodey is silent for a moment, taking in everything left unsaid by that simple statement. He can read the tension in Tony's shoulders and the hints of nervousness in the twitch of his fingers. "That sounds like a good idea to me. You've got the Accords sorted out then?"

"Mm, no. Hit a few roadblocks. Still working out how to fix them," Tony says, breezing over the topic and stepping out of the elevator. This floor is among the Avenger floors, with floor to ceiling windows looking out over the city. The floor is smooth, polished to a slick black with a few half-finished walls.

"What kind of roadblocks? I heard rumors about you pulling strings to get the Accords adjusted months ago. It sounded like you and T'challa were close to getting it pushed through the UN." Rhodey rolls his wheelchair to a stop near one of the windows, looking over the common room. This used to be the Avengers old floor, just beneath Tony's penthouse. They all had their own suites on this floor, and a central common room and kitchen for those who felt sociable. None of them were used very often; the Avengers only really assembled when it was necessary, and tended to drift apart otherwise. For a moment, Rhodey is hit with a sad nostalgia for the brief time when the Avengers worked together as a single unified team, however rare it was.

If they’d spent more time together, things might have been different.

"Big roadblocks. I'll figure it out eventually. Come on, let's check out your room," Tony replies, leading him away from both the topic at hand and the common room. He takes him down a wide hallway, into one of the apartments and visibly perks up when he spots a man standing in the middle of a half-finished room. "Happy! I wondered where you were hiding. How's the diet?"

Happy scowls at him from his position among a dozen boxes in the center of the living room, but there's no real heat behind it. "Miserable. Pepper has me eating protein bars and none of the company chefs will make me anything but salads and smoothies."

"It's not so bad once you get used to it, Happy," Rhodey adds helpfully, looking around the apartment. As usual, he's both exasperated and touched by Tony's gift. The apartment is twice the size of his family home and much larger than any accommodation he could find while deployed by the Air Force (an admittedly decent set up given both his rank and the fact that the Air Force treats its officers better than other branches). Still, it almost feels too much. But that's never stopped Tony before.

“If that’s what you gotta tell yourself at night, then fine, but nothing replaces a good burger,” Happy mutters. He looks up at Tony. “Everything’s accounted for, boss. We’ve just gotta give the crews time to unbox everything and set them up.”

“Good work.” Tony smirks, idly taking a look around the apartment. "This place will be fully functional in a few days, Rhodey, and you can use it to recover from your surgery downstairs. Think of it as a one stop shop for all things 'fix-your-legs' related."

"Gee, thanks," Rhodey says dryly, giving him an exasperated side eye. “Duck down and say that to my face next time.”

Tony's response is a cocky, teasing smirk. "You can smack me for it when you've got your groove back."

"Looking forward to it.”

Happy is frowning down at a tablet in his hands. “What the hell. Shouldn’t the kid be in school?”

Tony looks up from Rhodey and walks over towards Happy, swiping the tablet out of his hands, and enlarging the map on the screen. Happy huffs but doesn't do much more than roll his eyes and walk off; he's too used to Tony's antics to be annoyed. Much.

"No class today. His school caught fire last night," Tony says, tapping out a quick message on the tablet. "Not sure why he's in Manhattan, but hey, that'll make your job easier this afternoon, won’t it?"

Happy snorts, heading towards the door. "Yeah, yeah. Guess I'll take my lunch now."

"You're a treasure, Happy," Tony calls out, still absorbed by the message app on the tablet.

"And don't you forget it," the man calls back grumpily from the elevator. 

Tony smirks, tucking the stolen tablet into the inside pocket of his sports coat. His mood is noticeably improved, and he rocks back and forth on his heels a bit, the way he does when his day is going particularly well. It’s a habit Rhodey first noticed in MIT; when Tony is happy, he can’t sit still.

"Kid?" Rhodey asks, quirking a brow.

"Hm?" Tony looks over at Rhodey, and then snaps his fingers as the realization hits. "That's right, you haven't met him yet. Peter, my shiny new intern."

"Since when did you take on personal interns?"

"Since a little after the Accords," Tony replies, brightening at the subject. There’s a bit more pep to step when he starts to talk about the kid, and Rhodey’s both surprised and happy to see it, despite his confusion. "He's good, Rhodey. Smart, with a good heart. I'm pretty sure Pepper likes him better than me, but I can't hold it against him. Much."

"And how old is this kid?" Rhodey has recently come to the uncomfortable realization that he and Tony have reached that age where 'kid' could mean a literal child or a newly graduated college student. Possibly one with a PhD.

Tony hums. "Sixteen."

"A high schooler?" Rhodey can’t keep the disbelief from his voice.

"Yeah," Tony answers, completely nonchalant. He leaves the apartment and motions for Rhodey to follow him across the hall to another. He pushes the door open to reveal a large bedroom suite, fully furnished and ready to move in. The queen sized bed is made up with Iron Man sheets, and posters from Star Wars and other old scifi movies dot the walls. A pair of glass doors lead out to a balcony overlooking the city. “His room is right across from yours, in fact. I'm hoping some of your common sense will rub off on him when he stays over on weekends."

"Like it did for you?" Rhodey asks dryly, exploring the room. He finds a closet full of shirts with cringeworthy science puns printed on them, a bookshelf with physics and biology texts far beyond a high schooler's knowledge, and boxes of Star Wars models and Lego sets tucked away on a shelf. There's a small workshop table set up near the windows, lined with tools and a bright desk lamp.

"You know I'm a special case, honeybear," Tony replies. "Besides, he doesn't take after me _that_ much."

"Hm." Rhodey stops near the bookshelf and picks up a framed picture. Tony is posing near a teenager, arm slung casually across the boy's shoulders and peace sign in full display. The boy is grinning at the camera, earnest and sweet. "I dunno. If he's got you as a role model..."

"I'm the utter picture of responsibility, Rhodey. And also Pepper has started stealing him away from me as her own personal intern, so he probably won’t be totally feral by the time he reaches eighteen. Now come on, let's go get some coffee upstairs."

*** * ***

Ross is used to dealing with men and women who dislike him, but he's rarely felt threatened by the politicians he typically deals with. Most politicians are smarmy, weak willed and easily intimidated or blackmailed. Nakia ranks among the very few that he believes would kill him if given a chance and would accomplish it easily. He respects her for that alone. The fact that she's clever and steadfast doubles it.

It really is a pity she isn't an American.

“I appreciate you taking the time to see me today,” Ross says politely, offering her his hand. “I understand you’ve had a busy few months.”

Nakia shakes his hand and returns his smile with one of her own. If he wasn’t used to dealing with spies and mercenaries and general politicians, he would have mistaken it for genuine. He knows better; Nakia holds no warm feelings towards Thaddeus Ross. That’s because she isn’t an idiot.

Despite everything, he respects her for that alone.

“I wanted to talk to you about the hospital you and Stark are building in Manhattan,” Ross says, sitting down behind his desk.

Nakia gives him a considering look. “Yes, it should be close to completion now. Have you considered my nation’s offer to help with your healthcare system?”

“We have, and I’m afraid the answer is still no,” Ross replies, his tone reluctant. “There are security concerns.”

“If Wakanda wanted to harm your nation,” Nakia says patiently, “We would not do it through sabotaging your people’s health. This is an initiative meant to help everyone, your nation, mine, and all the others.”

“That’s the point, ma’am. It would help _everyone_. And if we allow that in our nation, then others will follow. They’ll grow less reliant on our medicine and research_,_” Thaddeus replies. “We can’t allow that. Things are the way that they are for a reason. It’s a delicate balance and one better maintained than destroyed overnight.”

Nakia’s eyes narrow, her posture grows stiff and tense, as if she’s fighting off the urge to throttle him. She very likely is, and he can’t blame her for that. He’s only been stonewalling everything she’s brought forth in every UN meeting since day one. This latest conversation is one in a pattern.

Wakanda is stronger than the US on nearly every front except one: it doesn’t have proven history with its allies. In fact, it doesn’t have _allies._ And that’s a terrible position to be in on the world stage. It’s worse than weakness. It’s an opportunity.

“Which is why your proposal was shot down. Now, I think with a few changes--” Ross begins.

“Wakanda is not interested in such negotiations at this time,” Nakia cuts in coldly. “We will try again until we can convince them. We will find another way.”

“You’re hoping Tony Stark will help you the way he has before. I don’t think that’s going to be possible,” Ross says. “He’s busy these days. Laying low. Keeping to his family. You won’t find any help from him.”

He can see Nakia putting the pieces together as he speaks. By the end of his sentence, a look of recognition flashes in her eyes. She clenches her jaw, going silent.

When this is all over, he’ll find a way to work himself into her good graces. Politics is a game, and former enemies become very loyal allies when circumstances change and once enough time has passed. Once Stark is removed, things can start moving forward in a more productive manner.

Nakia rises from her seat slowly, elegantly. She gives him a patient look. “Your greed will be your downfall, Mr. Secretary.”

With that, she turns and leaves.

*** * ***

The hospital is still and silent and Rio Morales doesn't like that one bit. Hospitals are not meant to be silent. Even at night, there's a steady pulse of activity; quiet murmuring from nurse workstations, the gentle beeping of machines in patient rooms, and whatever the hell lab techs and phlebotomists do in their creepy labs in the basement. She knows this. She’s worked in hospitals all of her adult life. Hospitals are loud, noisy, and bustling even at the quietest times.

This hospital is silent and dark and smells like death.

Rio activates her com, idly sweeping a flashlight over the torn and shattered bodies of a few nurses. Blood covers every surface of the room. A nearby wall is half destroyed, as though something twice the size of the average man smashed through it. "Status report. Has anyone found anything?"

There's a few minutes of silence before a grim voice comes over the line. "It's just like the last one. Nothing but blood and bodies."

_Shit._ Rio sighs. "That makes three. I'll make the call. We're in a quarantine situation."

*** * ***

**The Daily Bugle **@dailybugle _12/06/2017_

The governor has declared a state of emergency. The National Guard is moving into the city to enforce a quarantine on Manhattan. More to follow.

**Hot Buns! ** _@hotbunsnbagels 12/06/2017_

Have breakfast for lunch today! Our bagels will be the last thing you ever tasted!

**Hot Buns! **_@hotbunsnbagels_

Best*! Best thing you ever tasted! Dangit.

**The Daily Planet **_@dailyplanet_ _12/06/2017_

BREAKING: Manhattan placed under military quarantine. Two hospitals were found 'devoid of all life.' The CDC has confirmed that the Manhattan Flu is a mutated strain of influenza that causes some victims to become violently unstable and attack others without provocation while others begin to bleed from every bodily orifice.

** HoldMeCloseTinyHamster ** _@hamsterdance_

it's a what now that does what to who

** Actually Just Ryan Reynolds ** _@deadpoolsmassivechurro_

@hamsterdance F.

*** * ***

Peter, well and truly sick of fighting through the crowded sidewalks (always a dicey thing to begin with, and doubly so when his senses are going wild like this), decides to cut through an alley to reach the subway station.

It isn’t until he hears the click of a gun preparing to fire that Peter suspects his spider senses were right all along.

The shot goes off just as he starts to duck, muffled by a silencer.

Searing, white hot pain flares up at the back of his head, and he falls. 

"Not a clear shot," one voice says above him, bored and annoyed. A boot nudges Peter's head. "He wasn't even moving that fast and you still barely hit his head.”

"Whatever. It's enough to kill him. Look at the blood, see?" The annoyed voice grunts. “Quit bitching and get his wallet and phone. We’ll dress it up as a mugging gone wrong.”

Hands duck into his jacket pocket, snatching his wallet. His phone is plucked out of his limp hand. The men talk to one another quietly as they leave, bored and casual. Peter tries to move, to get up, but his head is pounding, something warm is pouring down the side of his face, and he’s very, very tired.

Closing his eyes, even for a moment, doesn’t seem like a bad idea. He starts to relax, then starts awake, pushing the book signed by Xavier free of the blood.

That’s really a lot of blood. A part of him is very worried by that. Another part is satisfied that the book is free of it. The rest of him registers an odd coldness and one hell of a headache.

His eyes close. The watch on his wrist, dusty and cracked, turns bright red in alert. Blood from Peter’s wound winds its way into the delicate machinery of the watch, shorting it out. The screen goes dead.

The snow falls so heavily that it almost obscures the red pooling beneath him.

*** * ***

In a dumpster behind a long dead hospital, a phone starts to ring. 

One missed call.

ERROR; MESSAGE RETURNED UNDELIVERABLE

**Aunt May: ** _Peter, call me when you get this. _

Three missed calls.

**Aunt May: ** _I'm serious, call me. Right now._

Five missed calls.

**Aunt May: ** _If you're over at Ned's and ignoring me, I'll ground you until you're fifty, answer my calls!_

Ten missed calls.

**Aunt May: ** _Please just tell me that you're okay. I need to know that you're safe. Please baby._

Twelve missed calls.

**Aunt May: ** _I love you. Please come home._

Two New Messages.

**Ned: ** _dude, your aunt is freaking out. you okay?_

**MJ: ** _hey loser, you need to call your aunt. she's really upset._

Four missed calls from Ned and MJ.

**MJ: ** _Peter, seriously, you need to call one of us back asap. we’re worried._

**Ned: ** _i tried to call mr. stark because this is DEFINITELY a code red situation and all I got was Friday. she said you're missing._

**Ned: ** _please don't get the flu, dude. i don’t think spiders are immune to death flus._

One new Message.

**Tony: ** _Get out of Manhattan. Go home. Do NOT under any circumstances try to find me or help anyone who is sick. This is non-negotiable._

Several missed calls.

**Tony: ** _Kid, I need to know that you're safe. You need to answer me._

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
